


Hit and Miss

by Asteramie (miyakowasure)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7214191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miyakowasure/pseuds/Asteramie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hit and Miss</p><p>or</p><p>3 times Sid and Geno failed at asking each other out<br/>+ one time Flower did it for them</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit and Miss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omelet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omelet/gifts).



> A gift fic for **omelet** in Sid/Geno exchange 2016! I hope you like it! :)

1\. 

In Geno’s understanding, the best way to show one’s interest towards another person discreetly yet noticeably is to befriend them in every possible social media. There is a certain thrill in pressing the small heart-shaped button on the screen and know the other person is going to see the heart on their phone or pad. The new variety of reactions in oppose of a simple ‘Like’ in Facebook came like a Heaven’s Present, and it doesn’t hurt that one can now like someone’s direct messages on Instagram. Retweeting something the person considers a matter of importance is always a good thing to do as well.

After some time of simply liking everything the other person posts and thus having made oneself noticed on their feed, it’s good to start commenting on their posts. Nothing extraordinary or creepy, just nice, short messages that show the sender is truly interested in whatever the person posted. Sometimes, when there is an Instagram post that brings the person in one’s mind, it’s nice to directly send the post to that person.

Maybe at some point, if the other person starts to answer to the comments and it looks like the two people share their interests, and they might have enough things to talk about to properly keep up a longer conversation, it’s okay to ask them out for a coffee. It’s a modern and simple way of hitting on someone, and Geno is good at it.

The problem is, Sidney doesn’t function like that.

“How can one contact another person when they only use text messages and email?” Geno complains and throws his phone down on the sofa.

“You’re trying to hit on Crosby through Twitter?” Ovechkin asks, his face blank and incredulous. “Zhenya, you must be aware he barely knows how to connect his phone on wifi, let alone install the app!”

“Sid can use his phone just fine,” Geno says firmly because he is a loyal friend. Besides, smartphones _are_ complicated and that’s not Sidney’s fault.

“Call him,” Ovechkin says and moves his hand like he’s talking into an invisible phone. “In the traditional way, remember how that works?”

Geno blinks. Of course he could call Sidney but that’s not how his plan went. Calling is way too straightforward.

“I don’t want to scare him away.”

“Yeah, because Crosby would totally scream and flee if he saw you calling.” Ovechkin rolls his eyes. “Text message? Email? He does have those, you just said so.”

Still too straightforward and personal. Everything being in public on social media somehow carries a sense of innocent carelessness that email never has. Geno tells that to Ovechkin who stares at him for a long time before shaking his head and bursting into a laughter so loud, Geno almost feels offended.

“You mean you want to ask him out but you don’t want to let him know you like him? You know what, send him a fucking homing pigeon and concentrate on enjoying the summer now that you still can. I’m too busy to deal with you pining after him.”

“I’m not pining,” Geno snaps and lets himself flop against the back rest of the sofa. Just a few more weeks left before he’ll return to Pittsburgh for the training camp.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

2.

It’s only a preseason game but a loss against the Blue Jackets still stings, especially now that the memory of the incredible ending of their last season is still fresh in everyone’s minds.

Sidney hates losing. It makes him want to throw things and slam doors and curl up into his bed to sulk the bitterness away. Too bad that’s not what a captain is supposed to do. So instead of throwing a fit he walks around the locker room to offer an encouraging word here, an understanding pat on shoulder there.

Everyone has their own way of dealing with losses and Sidney knows exactly how his players do it. Flower’s post-loss tension breaks with a couple of quiet words and some alone time. Hornqvist and Kessel cheer up when they get to pick through all the important details of the game. Pouliot must be sent to the shower before anyone tries to talk to him. Maatta needs a pat on the back and an empathetic smile, and he’ll be fine. Some rookies are still a bit of a question mark this early in the preseason, but Sidney will get to know their habits soon enough. 

One by one Sidney goes through his round until he has exchanged a couple of words with almost everyone. The last one might be the toughest. 

Geno is sitting at his locker, leaning his elbows against his knees and gritting his teeth. He is always grumpy after a loss but tonight it seems worse than usual.

There was this awesome plan where Sidney had online-checked some nice-looking restaurants in Columbus and was going to ask Geno out for a dinner after the game, just the two of them. Tanger was supposed to cover for them so no-one would be able to catch them before they’d be out of the arena. However, now that they are here and Geno looks ready to strangle anyone who steps too close to him, Sidney hesitates.

"Maybe not tonight." Tanger’s low murmur forces Sidney to look up from Geno’s hands. (God, they are so big. Sidney has always had a thing for Geno’s hands.) Disappointment claws on his insides, but he has to admit Tanger is right. Some other day, he promises himself. He has kept his thoughts with himself for long enough now that he can as well do so for a while more.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

3.

If somebody asked Geno, he would say Sidney Crosby has always been breathtaking in several different ways - not only the way he skates across the ice, reads the game, scores, and creates places for his wings to score as well, but also the way he smiles and hugs afterwards, and even the way he talks to his team in the locker room during an intermission when they are dragging after the other team.

There's just something about Sidney that makes Geno's breath catch because of the smallest reasons, so maybe nobody can blame him for almost choking on his beer when Sidney leans in for a clumsy, drunken kiss that lands somewhere on the side of Geno's neck. 

The immediate reflex is to quickly glance around, but no-one seems to notice them in the darkness of the club. They are sitting in the middle of their teammates who are scattered in each table around them. Sheary and Rusty just left to get new drinks, so for a moment it’s only the two of them in the small corner table between the other guys’ backs and a decorative plant.

"Sorry." Sidney's smile is sheepish as he sways back to an appropriate distance. "I just really wanted to do that."

Geno swallows and tries not to think about what Sidney could possibly mean with that.

"You're drunk," he says and forces out a small laugh, ignoring the warm tingling on the spot where Sidney’s lips touched his skin. "Shouldn't do things when you're drunk. How you know you don't regret tomorrow?"

"I won't," Sidney says eagerly and downs the rest of his glass at once, as if the act were some kind of a confirmation to his words. Geno watches as Sidney puts the glass down on the table and inches his fingertips on Geno's thigh, leaning closer again so Geno can hear him over the music.

"I want you." It's only a shushed murmur, but it makes cold shivers run down Geno's back. Sidney’s eyes seem glassy, and Geno isn’t as sober as he’d like either. He shouldn’t be doing anything like this. Not now, not here. Not when Sheary and Rusty might come back any moment, and definitely not in a public night club where anyone could take a picture of them and publish it for the rest of the world to see.

The whole weight of Sidney's body slumps against Geno, and he clumsily nuzzles his nose against the tender skin behind Geno’s ear. Geno closes his eyes, praying for strength from all kinds of Higher Powers.

“Sid,” he gasps. “Sid, wait.” Sidney’s head lolls to Geno’s shoulder. Geno has to wrap his arm around Sidney’s waist so he won’t fall from his seat. 

“Nope, won’t regret anything tomorrow,” Beau snorts from the next table behind the plant. Geno seriously wants to bury his face into his hands, or alternatively hit himself. Too bad the full armful of a sleeping Sidney prevents such actions of desperation.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

+1 

The smoothness with which Sidney deals with all Marc-Andre’s whims is admirable. Sure, goalies always get away with almost anything just because, well, they’re _goalies_ , but even then Sidney takes that to a new level, accepting whatever Marc-Andre ever says. Marc-Andre truly appreciates that. It means that he can easily suggest they celebrate his birthday in a ridiculously fancy restaurant, dressed in their best suits, and Sidney doesn't even ask if he's serious. Hell, there are tall, white candles on the table and Sidney barely blinks at them before taking a seat and opening the menu (navy blue velvet covers and a golden tassel hanging between the pages) and starting to scan through the options.

When Sidney is ready, Marc-Andre carefully keeps his eyes on his menu so Sidney won’t call the waitress to their table just yet. It’s a few minutes until six o'clock. They still need to kill some time.

As soon Sidney realizes Marc-Andre is taking his time choosing, he simply leans back and waits politely, bless the man. After a while, however, he tilts his head.

“So I was thinking,” Sidney says slowly, “we really need to do something to our power play.”

Right. Sidney will happily wait any amount of time as long as he gets to analyze hockey while waiting. So that’s what they do. Marc-Andre keeps leafing back and forth the menu and stops every now and then to comment on something Sidney said.

At six sharp a familiar character appears at the door of the room, and Marc-Andre smiles. Finally. He stands up and holds the chair ready. Sidney probably expected him to go to the restroom because the expression on his face turns questioning before his eyes widen as he notices Geno walking towards them.

Geno, too, is dressed up in his best suit just like Marc-Andre had instructed. They are both such good, unjudging friends, he thinks warmly.

“Flower?” Sidney asks hesitantly when Marc-Andre shows Geno his own seat. Geno sits down but looks every bit as confused as Sidney does.

Marc-Andre leans closer so he can speak silently enough that nobody but his friends can hear him. “Here’s the plan. Today is my birthday so I invited my close friends to the finest restaurant in whole Pittsburgh. Too bad I also happen to have a booking in another restaurant with my wife. I’m sure you two can deal with the loss of my companion. You could maybe, I don’t know, _talk_ and make sure you can give me some happy news on the change of your relationship status by tomorrow morning.”

Poor Sidney flushes bright red, and Marc-Andre would maybe feel a pinch of pity if he hadn’t spent the better part of the last year following this unnecessarily complicated real-time live action soap opera whenever Sidney and Geno have been around.

There is still an obvious cloud of question marks hanging above Geno’s head, so Marc-Andre sighs.

“Sidney, Geno loves you. Do whatever you consider suitable with that information. G, you have always wanted an own family. In case you haven’t noticed, Sidney is dying to be your family. Have a nice evening!”

It’s difficult to tell which one’s face is more worth seeing, so Marc-Andre doesn’t bother trying to decide. Instead, he smiles widely and turns away. He still has half an hour time to find a taxi and meet Vero at their favorite restaurant.

 

* 

 

Next morning there is a new message from Geno in his phone. There’s an image of Sidney sleeping in a room that Marc-Andre recognizes as Geno’s bedroom, a heart emoticon, and a long row of parentheses. 

He answers with a thumbs-up emoticon and puts the phone away to sleep just a few minutes more.

What would the world – or at least Sidney and Geno – do without him?


End file.
